..treating them with contempt and hatred. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. Ok. Who am I k**ding. Something was there. I looked at my hand thinking how it felt wrapping my hand around that piece of flesh and feeling the blood flow through the veins, watching it expand and seeing the crown getting ever bigger. Oh how I'd have loved to get on my knees and experience the feeling of my first cock sliding into my mouth and letting it force its way into my throat. I was in a day dream when I realised I was back outside the cafe/bar and checking my watch realised I still had a half hour wait before Sylvia returned. I kept walking. I found another bar just as a text arrived saying she would be another hour. Good I thought that'll give me more time to think this through. I sent her the name and location of where I was and settled down with the most exorbitant pint I'd ever bought. At least I didn't have to go back into that bar...my friend might have still been there and I know I couldn't face him. I. He felt his only 'out' of the situation was Sabra, but was slowly waking up to the fact she wasn't going to leave America. Going to live there himself would mean parting from his two daughters, Karen and Emily, and he wasn't yet prepared to make that sacrifice.As far as The Curse was concerned, he'd taken a lot of the creative responsibility upon himself. Their record company had assumed he was the brains of the band and was treating him accordingly. They'd displayed for him graphs and charts outlining Flyblown/Sony's suggested marketing stategy and it was all facts and figures, demographs, promotional opportunities, projected sales, blah - it was cynical, in his mind, and utter bullshit. He was a musician, an artist, not a fucking accountant.They liked the song 'Sabra' but it wasn't a band song, they insisted, and better left to a Mick Johnson solo CD someday. It wasn't a 'hit' and the band would have to pay royalties to the songwriter. Flyblown could see little point in including it.
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